


Clean

by didireallycreateanaccounthere



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: Debbie and Ruth are in love, F/F, i live in an au where liz and carly realize this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:18:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/didireallycreateanaccounthere/pseuds/didireallycreateanaccounthere
Summary: End of Season 2.I may keep working on this, I may not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Debbie's POV.

Their bus ride was delayed because of course their bus ride was fucking delayed.

(Sam rented a bus that broke down halfway into the ride.)

(Sam hired a bus driver who didn’t know how to fix the problem because he was “new to the system, man.”) 

(Sam’s attempts at finding a new bus and driver in the middle of nowhere were ultimately, obviously futile. They had to wait until morning before someone else from the bus company was willing to come. They were all stranded in some shoddy motel that was simply called MOTEL since the owner didn’t even want to take credit for it.)

So, they waited.

Because in the morning, it would be fixed. That’s what Sam said. In the morning, he would have the best fucking driver waiting for them with the best fucking bus. His pep talk outside was met with the typical GLOW theatrics, and Sam met those with eye rolls and room keys.

Sam hardly looked at Debbie when he handed her a key. He was busy talking to Ruth as if they were friends or—that was fine, Debbie thought. Great even. Ruth could date every mustached man in the world at once. Maybe she would grow a mustache if she dated enough of them. That would probably make her the best fucking heel of the century.

Debbie lay in bed, still wearing her clothes. The inside of her room was now all inky darkness with only a flush of streetlight spilling in. The truth, a truth she would admit to no one, was Debbie was happy to be free of that bus. The smell of sweat was becoming unbearable, and she could hardly breathe in there. It was the broken AC. Or the aching recognition that came with each mile, that she was a mile farther from Randy. Or that Ruth was five rows ahead of her and wouldn’t stop laughing with Sam, how that laughter still rang in Debbie’s ears, how she still somehow found it deafening, and how through the few inches of space between those seats, Debbie could see a sliver of Sam smiling, inching closer to Ruth’s seat and—

Mark didn’t pick up. He was probably too busy fucking the sequel to Debbie to let Debbie speak to her son.

As Debbie took a shower, she could hear the muffled noises of the girls having fun next door. She washed off the sweat and the anger and every last thought until she felt clean. This took a while.

Debbie liked showers. She liked them better than talking or thinking most of the time. Mark used to call Debbie’s propensity for long showers a waste. Mark wasn’t here.

Debbie stepped out to smoke because what else was there to do. She leaned against some column because where else was there to go, and she could see through the shut, paper thin, balled up curtains the various silhouettes of GLOW members dancing around in the room next to hers. She wondered if Ruth was in there, or if she was fucking some mustache. She stamped out her cigarette.

Debbie searched the motel for dinner (tonight’s would be found in a vending machine because what else was around here, because if she wanted something else she’d have to talk to the receptionist or Sam, and she didn't feel like dealing with either). She found a pool cluttered with Arthie and Yolanda. Guess not everyone wanted to stay indoors. They didn't notice her at first. They were too occupied with smiling at each other, eyes glazed over with new love, and that look they both wore made Debbie kind of want to die. By the time Debbie was halfway past the pool, they must’ve heard her shuffling because they both turned and ushered Debbie over. She barely acknowledged them as she shrunk away. She didn’t know why. Maybe because she didn’t want to get her shoes wet. They were suede. Maybe because getting closer to happy people somehow meant feeling more alone. Those shoes were really expensive. 

She supposed this was why people thought she was a bitch. Whatever.

Finally, Debbie veered a corner and found it. A machine, the machine. That would provide the greatest dining experience she would be having tonight. She wasn’t even hungry, but it all somehow felt exciting, having an objective, achieving it. As she clicked the button combination for chips, she heard, “Hey.” It belonged to Ruth. 

Debbie took her chips from the machine’s slot and slinked back up. She kept looking at her chips. They looked long past expired. Much like Ruth and Debbie, Debbie smiled slightly at this strange thought.

“Hey,” Debbie muttered. 

Debbie knew if she looked at Ruth, at her mouth, say, she’d see Sam’s mouth approaching Ruth’s again or whatever it was doing before, on the bus. Or, better yet, see signs Ruth had already had sex with mustache number two of the day. And then Debbie wouldn’t be able to eat at all. Because, Ruth was like her friend or used to be anyway and that was all just unbearably gross to picture because he was old and an asshole and Ruth was…well, Debbie didn’t know what Ruth was. But, Debbie had come all this way for processed food and achieved her goal for the evening, so she wasn’t about to spoil it.

Debbie pawed at her chips and pretended to read the ingredients on the back. She took a few steps away to let Ruth near the vending machine. Ruth shuffled towards it, as if she would cause offense walking normally. As her finger hovered over a button, she turned back to Debbie and said, before Debbie could escape, “I wish the AC worked here.”

Debbie should’ve continued walking away. Debbie should’ve turned towards any direction but the one she was facing, the one towards Ruth. Debbie should’ve done a lot of things. 

“It works in my room.” Debbie didn’t want this to be misconstrued for an invitation and also what if Ruth declined, so she added, “You should ask for a fan.”

“I should. Yeah. Thanks.”

More silence.

“I wish the bus worked,” Ruth said.

Debbie laughed at that.

Debbie couldn’t help it, she dragged her eyes up to face Ruth. Ruth didn’t say anything and neither did Debbie. Ruth looked like she was trying to come up with another word, sentence, paragraph, anything. Debbie examined Ruth’s lips to see if they were swollen, or if Ruth’s hair looked messier than normal and…she couldn’t tell because Ruth was always a fucking mess. But, she examined these body parts anyway because she didn’t want Ruth to fuck over morale by fucking Sam. She examined these body parts for the good of GLOW. She examined them because—the silence was quickly becoming unbearable, and that look in Ruth’s eyes, whatever it was, it all made Debbie feel like she was back on that bus. Debbie tried to construct a new sentence since Ruth wasn’t doing it, and all that came out was, “You rooming with Sam?”

Fuck. That was not what she meant to say at all.

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

Ruth went back to looking at the selections on the vending machine as she began a phrase she clearly didn't know how to finish: “I…”

Debbie didn’t want the rest of that sentence. She interrupted, slightly too loudly, “Th…that was a joke. Obviously.”

“Oh!” Ruth looked confused then turned back around to face Debbie. Her shoulders relaxed. She mustered up a laugh in an attempt to give Debbie what she thought Debbie needed, seemed grateful that Debbie was telling her a joke even though, of course, she wasn’t. All of Ruth's bullshit left Debbie picturing Ruth and Mark fucking since it was the reason for all this, and that image was so real now, it made Debbie turn back to her chips and sputter, “I’m going.”

“Oh.” Ruth’s laughter died as soon as it began. Before Debbie could take more than a step, Ruth continued to speak, taking her time with each word, emphasizing each one. “Um, I’m rooming with Sheila. By the way. In case…you weren’t…um….I guess Sam was too lazy to find different rooming options than what we had set up at the Dusty Spur.”

Ruth started from the vending machine towards Debbie. She gestured towards the bag in Debbie’s hands and whispered, almost tenderly despite the content of her words, “How do the chips look? Should I…”

Debbie looked at Ruth’s lips once more. Because now was the time to figure out if Sam and Ruth had been making out for an extended period of time. 

Because now they were much closer. 

She still couldn’t tell.

Of course, Debbie knew it was her fault that Ruth hadn’t sat next to Debbie on the bus. Debbie refused to look at Ruth when she got on. Debbie slouched and hid in her chair and pretended to be very involved with looking at her hand at the time. Debbie had just seen Ruth and what’s his name making out, and she somehow felt rather too wobbly to welcome Ruth next to her for hours on end. Still, when Debbie saw Ruth find her way next to Sam and saw how she turned to Sam and in the space between those seats, smiled at Sam, she felt—she felt—

“Debbie?”

“You can room with whoever you want. Just like you can sit on the bus with whoever you want. Just like you can fuck whoever you want. As long as it doesn’t like screw up our show or my life like fucking my husband would, like fucking the director would, why would I care?” 

Ruth blinked quickly like she always did when she was about to cry. Debbie took this reaction as conclusive evidence that Ruth was fucking Sam. Debbie took this as conclusive evidence that she would never know if Ruth was fucking Sam and that she didn’t know Ruth at all.

At least Debbie felt a degree of pride at how detached she sounded, at least she could seemingly destroy Ruth with a few words. All she knew about Ruth was how to hurt her. This was wrong, Debbie knew. 

She managed a smile, albeit a tight one, albeit one she couldn’t look Ruth in the eyes for. Then, she remembered she didn’t reply to what Ruth said at all. She asked about chips. Shit. Debbie said, “I’m not hungry. Try it yourself.” She handed Ruth the bag of chips, her bag of chips, her whole objective for the evening, and stalked off. 

Debbie didn’t look back.

Debbie didn’t know why she did anything any more. 

As she lay in her room, starving now, she remembered Yolanda and Arthie and the way they looked at each other and smiled at each other and laughed with each other, and she took out another cigarette. She could feel in these fingers that now held a cigarette the places where her fingers had barely grazed Ruth’s earlier, when Debbie had jabbed a bag of chips in Ruth’s stomach, and Ruth had accepted it like she accepted everything Debbie gave her. She took a long drag from her cigarette. And, after a few seconds, she finally began to feel clean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I guess I wrote another chapter. Hm. *notes that*

Ruth watched Debbie stomp off, and she froze, like she always did when Debbie did what she always did—leave. It all felt cliched at this point. Like some pathetic rhythm her body was now used to. It was like sleeping or breathing or her period even. Except way, way, way more pathetic. The rhythm was: Ruth did barely anything. Debbie found this, found Ruth’s existence unbearable. Debbie would leave, angry (Debbie was always angry). Ruth would watch and find herself so stunned each time she wouldn’t say or do anything beyond watching Debbie grow smaller. And, in the end, Ruth would somehow end up feeling smaller from the whole encounter.

Ruth would play it all over in her head after each of these interactions. She’d imagine how she’d do it differently next time, how she’d speak up and tell Debbie something that’d stop her, at least break up the repetition of it all. Plus, they were equals now (especially since she broke her leg and told her to get raped basically and then they had that whole shouting match). But when it came down to it, facing Debbie’s presence and Debbie’s anger, Ruth had no words, and her legs didn’t work as they should.

The lights and the vending machine and the cars in the parking lot and the entire world turned blurry and that was the only way Ruth knew she was crying. Ruth needed to break the pattern. She wiped her hands at her face haphazardly, almost violently, readying herself to follow Debbie.

But, when everything was clear again, Debbie was long gone.

And, honestly, what was Ruth going to say.

Ruth thought they would be better now. Since they had that screaming match in the hospital and Debbie came back, holding Ruth’s clothes, some polyester olive branch. Ruth thought maybe it would all be solved between them. This pathetic pattern would cease, and Debbie would stay if they fought about something again. Maybe they wouldn’t even fight again. Ruth was embarrassed of her own optimism. Not just embarrassed. Pained that it existed. 

Sheila chewed on the chips, nibbling into each with the intensity of a beaver.

“Well…” Ruth said. They were standing outside the motel room along with their bags. Why they were outside along with their bags remained a mystery to Ruth.

“Mmhm.”

“You said if I gave you the chips you’d tell me.”

“Hm?

“Sheila. Come on.”

“Hm.”

“Tell me why our bags are outside.”

“Oh. Well, I found all these bugs under the bed. Beautiful. They all flew out. Never seen anything like it, really. But, Sam came over right then, flipped out. Anyway, now we’re moving rooms.”

“Why did Sam come to our room?”

“I don’t know. He seemed…weird.”

“How?”

“Like nervous maybe.”

“Hm.”

“You dating him?”

“What?”

“He smelled better than normal, seemed nervous. I don’t know.”

“No. I’m not dating Sam. I’m dating Russell.”

“They look sorta similar.”

“You look sorta similar…to a wolf.”

“Thank you,” Sheila said earnestly.

Just then, Sam came striding over.

“No more free rooms in this shit hole fuck hole fuck.”

“Can’t they just clean ours?”

“Not that kind of place, Ruth.”

“Just tell me where I’m sleeping.” Sheila sputtered. 

“Let me think. Let me…”

He stared at Ruth and Sheila intensely, like they were the problems, not the bugs.

“I don’t fucking…Fuck. If Bash wasn’t with Rhonda, I could just fucking sleep in bed with him. Why’d he have to get married.”

Ruth smiled at this. “Yes, how selfish. In America, man gets married, lives alone with wife. In Soviet Union, man marries goat and lives with whole neighborhood in goat shtetl.”

“Well, Ruth, all the other rooms have two people already, except mine and Debbie’s, so you tell me. You gonna room with Debbie?”

Ruth’s smile died suddenly. 

Sheila stood and held out her hand to Sam.

“What do you want?” Sam said.

“Your key. You go sleep with Debbie,” Sheila said.

“You go sleep with Debbie.”

“You.”

“You. You're a female. It's a better rooming situation. Her room is right there. Ask her.” 

Sam pointed to a room nearby. Sheila stared. She moved an inch before saying, “Well, she,” Sheila pointed to Ruth, “is definitely not sleeping with Debbie, so who...is sleeping with Debbie.”

Sam stared Sheila down for a second.

“Alright. You know what. None of us is sleeping with Debbie. I’m asking for some extra sheets. You’ll sleep on the bed with me. Ruth will sleep on the floor.”

“Why am I sleeping on the floor?”

“Because, Ruth…I’ve got a bad back or neck or life or something. Just…”

Sam shrugged. Ruth pursued it no further. Because she didn’t want to sleep on the bed with Sam. Because it would be more uncomfortable than the floor thanks to that moment at the prom. And, she really, really didn't feel like fighting Sam for his place on the bed.

Ruth slept about as well as she expected to on the floor.

As the very blue light of dawn began to fill the room, a shadow passed the window and then there was a knock.

Without thinking, Ruth pulled her body up and opened the door, and of course, obviously, there was Debbie, eyes widening, speaking multiple iterations of “what the fuck” without saying a word.

“This is Sam’s room,” she said as if this would somehow be new information for Ruth. And, with that, she stomped off.

Ruth found herself watching Debbie. And, then found herself running after Debbie. 

Who knew all Ruth needed was lack of sleep to do something slightly necessary and incredibly stupid.

When she caught up, she pulled at Debbie’s hand. Debbie kept going.

“Get off.” Debbie flicked Ruth’s hand away easily.

“No, please. Debbie. Hey. Stop!”

Debbie complied and turned to face Ruth.

No words came. 

She wasn’t expecting Debbie to actually stop walking away from her or to actually listen. Debbie never listened to her, and Debbie never stopped walking away from her, at least not in situations where she was this angry. 

Ruth tried to look somewhere other than at Debbie’s eyes, which were staring Ruth down like Ruth’s IQ was lowering in Debbie’s mind with each second Ruth thought of nothing to say.

Ruth turned to look at the wall next to Debbie’s face, and that was the only way she got out a half sentence: “I thought we were past…”

“What?” And, then Debbie repeated herself, now barely audible, speaking with something like self-consciousness or warmth, something other than anger: "What?" 

Ruth dared a glance at Debbie. And, she realized Debbie was actually waiting for her to speak.

“We said everything. In the hospital. Why are you still…?”

Debbie raised her eyebrows, willing Ruth to finish her sentence. 

“Running off,” Ruth said weakly. “Please…”

“I’m not.” Debbie studied Ruth’s face then looked somehow disappointed with what she found. Or, maybe, Ruth thought, maybe Debbie was disappointed with herself. Ruth couldn't tell. 

Debbie started walking off again. Ruth found she couldn’t keep walking, found she could only watch Debbie now.

And, then Ruth realized, because it was like 5:30 am and she was slow at 5:30 am, maybe Debbie was upset because of where she found Ruth. So…maybe if she brought that up...trying to figure out what was going on in Debbie’s head or how to appease it made Ruth’s brain want to explode in a major way but more words spilled out then, and they were slightly too loud for 5:30 am, but they were possibly better than silence: “I wasn’t in Sam’s room because…I was there because there were bugs in my room.”

Debbie stopped. She stood facing away from Ruth for what seemed like forever. Debbie, she realized, was laughing. An angry, mirthless laugh.

“Debbie?”

She turned around but kept the same distance from Ruth. She now squinted at Ruth. Ruth thought about asking Debbie to move, so she wouldn't have to squint, so she'd be more comfortable because the sun was clearly staring her in the face, but then she thought it might make Debbie somehow want to leave again.

“I don’t care. But just so you know, it’s a really fucking dumb idea to fuck our director.”

“I didn’t.”

“What time’s the bus coming?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Oh. Thought you might.”

“Debbie…”

Debbie looked angry, eyes all fire, and shook her head, like words weren’t good enough to express how horrible Ruth was. Ruth tried to piece together a sentence to try and stop Debbie from the inevitable. But, Debbie ran off before she could think of anything.

“Enjoy Sam,” she said, not looking back as she strode off. She found her way to her door and slammed it like some teenager.

Ruth flopped her way back to Sam’s room. She tried the door knob, but it was locked. She tried again. And, it was definitely locked. She thought about knocking and then the questions that would follow: “Where’d you go?” “Why were you outside?” 

She slid down instead, her body crumpled by the door. And, she noticed the lights in the motel hallway were still on despite the sun's obvious presence. They were loud and obnoxious and buzzed in a way that they must have all night, but she only heard just then. She didn't mind though. She liked the noise. 

She stared at the remaining sunrise and mused: well, at least this time, at least a bit, they broke the rhythm.


	3. Chapter 3

Debbie liked the sound the door made when it slammed shut. It sounded like safety, like she was in control of something, even if it was only the volume of a door as it hit its frame. But, maybe this kept up the ruse that Debbie was also in control of her relationship with Ruth. (Debbie wasn’t. Not really.)

What Ruth did, what Mark did, what they did together, formed a strange shape in Debbie’s mind. She felt herself turned into something strange, too—like something wholly erased by some mediocre instrument. All that was left of Debbie was a smudge—amorphous, nonsensical, something ugly. All those pretty adjectives and neat little phrases Debbie used to describe herself, to define herself, to anchor herself to, were gone. She was not a friend, she was not a wife, she was not a housewife, she was not happy. She was nothing. Worse than nothing. But, Debbie didn’t like to ruminate about these things. About the words she lost along the way. Debbie knew her anger was a lie, but she didn’t care. Because anger were safer than nothingness. Because anger was something to hold onto.

Sometimes, these thoughts came to her at hours like these—when she was staring at her reflection in the mirror, and the world was asleep, and she found she was somehow unable to breathe. She searched those eyes in the mirror for something of the self she knew before, the one filled with hope and normalcy and the rest, but she found something else instead, something like blankness, something she couldn’t quite name.

She was surprised to find a mini bar in this hell hole along with some matching mini alcohol bottles. She figured it’d help calm her down enough to get back to sleep.

Soon, she’d downed just one but she could feel her breath settling back in, steadier now, calm now.

She took a pillow then and held it to her as if it was Randy, as if he was also holding her. And, she felt less alone. Maybe, one word hadn’t left her. Mother. She was still a mother. But, that word felt farther now, too.

This all felt ridiculously silly, of course, holding a pillow because she couldn’t hold her son. She placed it down gently and found her way outside, just to see. Ruth lay sprawled out, asleep, next to Sam’s door. Debbie let herself smile at this pathetic image. She rarely let herself smile at Ruth, actually take in Ruth, but Ruth was asleep now.

Debbie leaned against the door. She stood and just watched Ruth at peace. No, she corrected herself. She wasn’t watching Ruth. She was figuring out if it was safe for Ruth to be out here asleep. This was for the good of GLOW.

While Debbie was typically fine with horrible things befalling Ruth because fuck her, she also didn’t particularly want Ruth to get raped then murdered (or murdered then raped) in this sad excuse for a building in this sad excuse for a town. She walked closer, but somehow she found each step made her breath grow more uneasy. She didn’t know why. Probably the alcohol. She tapped lightly at Ruth’s knee with her foot. 

“Time to go?” Ruth lisped. Her eyes moved around under their lids but didn’t open.

She tapped again.

“You shouldn’t be sleeping out here,” Debbie whispered as she rolled her eyes.

Ruth woke with a start. 

“Debbie.”

“Hm.”

“Why are you…?”

“I was gonna get food. But then…I saw…you, and, well, this area isn’t safe. You could like get murdered. Which is bad for the show. So, go inside.” Debbie said this quickly, as if it all was one word, as if saying this slower might mean she cared.

Ruth looked intently at Debbie, her eyes all warmth and gratitude. It was too much. Debbie looked to the parking lot.

“Go inside.”

“I didn’t want to wake anybody,” Ruth said.

Debbie glared in response.

“I just woke up. Debbie, can you give me a few minutes before you get all angry with me.”

“Knock on the door. I want to go back to sleep.”

“I don’t…I’m fine out here...okay.”

Ruth slowly pulled herself up, Debbie next to her. But, as Ruth stood, this closeness became too much for Debbie. She peeled away and leaned against the wall. There was an inescapable thought then, one she couldn’t quell because of lack of sleep or alcohol—that Ruth was beautiful (it was her eyes and the faint smell of her sweat and the way the light hit her collar bone and the flecks of brown in her eyes) and Debbie wanted to touch her (any part). Because they hadn’t wrestled in so long. Because they hadn’t hugged in much longer. Because--

Debbie forgot these thoughts when Ruth tapped lightly on the door with a single finger.

“Are you fucking serious?” Debbie spewed.

“I don’t want Sam to get mad.”

Debbie glared in response until Ruth knocked again—a pathetic, limp sound. She looked to Debbie for approval. Debbie remained motionless, stunned at Ruth’s...Ruthness. Ruth finally sighed, said, “I don’t see why I can’t just...just...stay out here. It’s fine...” Then, when Debbie didn’t respond to this, Ruth knocked much louder, banging at the door. A muffled Sam finally answered from inside with: “What? Fuck. What fucking--I’m coming, alright.”

Satisfied, Debbie mumbled, “Bye” as she walked away. She reached the door and turned to watch Ruth from a distance. Ruth still remained perched by the unopened door. She waited there for some time before it became apparent Sam wasn’t coming. She turned to Debbie, eyes all pleading, clearly wanting to just go back to her spot on the ground. Debbie shrugged. Ruth smiled quietly in response. She began to lower herself.

Debbie rolled her eyes at that because of course in a place filled with beds, Debbie would find Ruth sleeping on the ground and then Debbie realized her body was moving of its own accord then, back towards Ruth. Ruth looked overwhelmed at this, like she was scared Debbie was going to tell her she was going to throw her out the window again.

As Debbie reached Ruth, Sam’s door opened. Ruth looked like she was about to ask Debbie something but then shook her head, turned away, stood up, and slid inside. The door shut. Only Debbie remained outside.

As Debbie turned around and moved further from that door, she was pure relief. Of course, relief. Because she didn’t have to look out for Ruth. Because she didn’t have to talk to Ruth. Because that was what was logical to feel. But, then, of course, another part of Debbie didn’t want that door to open at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, hmmm idk what to say......
> 
> got a bit flowery, but I think Debbie prob gets a bit flowery in her mind at times.
> 
> Okk, thanks for reading and thanks for the nice comments
> 
> *gives you some glitter*


End file.
